


Sweethearts on Parade

by Delphi



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Glory Hole, M/M, Multiple Partners, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrlok knows all about the The Red Door—both because he’s heading a task force to shut down the vice dens of Republic City, and because he just can't keep himself out of the back room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweethearts on Parade

The Red Door was not the only vice club in Republic City. It wasn't even the most famous. Everyday, law-abiding citizens had heard of Long Dao's or Club Jade, but The Red Door was an in-the-know establishment. It wasn't for the casual gambler, or the ordinary opium fiend, or the unimaginative purchaser of illicit favours. For that, it had a reputation all its own among Republic City's most depraved and desperate.

It was located in the Archipelago, that part of the city down by the docks where tenements and businesses that could not afford the prices downtown dotted the industrial landscape like little islands in a grey sea. There was no sign marking the establishment—only a set of narrow stone steps leading down from the alleyway behind a noodle shop to the eponymous red door, which was featureless save for a small sliding hatch and opened only from the inside. 

Tarrlok was well aware of what went on in there. For two years, he had headed up a task force charged with cleaning up the city’s more disreputable businesses, and while The Red Door itself had thus far avoided the raids due to cautious practices and powerful backers, the name appeared frequently in his reports and memoranda. 

Then, of course, there was the fact that he was a regular.

There was a narrow room—practically a closet—situated in the back of the club. It was accessible only by the private entrance, although a hole approximately the size of a fist opened up into the interior corridor halfway between the saunas and the toilets. The room was only a little wider than Tarrlok’s shoulders and barely tall enough for a man of his height to stand upright. He had no cause to stand up, however. Here, tonight, he was to be found on his knees, half-shed of his cheap disguise as the third man of the evening pushed his cock through the hole towards Tarrlok's waiting mouth.

“Suck it,” the voice on the other side of the wall muttered—rather redundantly, in Tarrlok's opinion.

The room was dark. Only the shuttered lamps in the corridor let in any light, and that was largely blotted out whenever anyone stood in front of the hole. Tarrlok could only see the shadow of the man's heavy cock and the faint impression of cheap black pants. In turn, no one on the other side of the wall could easily glimpse the age or sex, let alone the features, of whoever occupied the little room. 

It was so rare for a man in Tarrlok’s position to simply be able to sit quietly and anonymously for an hour or two, he reflected as he stroked the man to full hardness and then took him into his mouth. He could smell smoke lingering on cotton. An opium taker, most likely. Not so far gone as to be impotent, but dosed enough for his hips to rock dreamily and his nails to scratch wandering lines on the wall as Tarrlok sucked him. 

Close quarters made the little room hot. Sweat prickled along Tarrlok's skin, his palms damp as he idly caressed himself. Bitter pre-ejaculate dribbled against his tongue, and he wrinkled his nose as the smell of smoke lingered. He had a certain disdain for those who enslaved themselves to the poppy, mingled with the requisite pity. The man's firm flesh was welcome, but hardly worthy of one's best efforts. Tarrlok's mouth moved mechanically, and within a minute or two, he had the man on the edge. Then he let him slip and stroked him off briskly to the sound of guttural gibbering on the other side of the wall. 

Sometimes he liked to imagine himself in better company. No sooner had the opium fiend staggered off than another man stepped up to the hole. Tarrlok smiled, rather flattered at the thought that they were lining up for him. This one was sturdily built, no willowy smoker. Did Captain Saikhan ever come in here on his nights off, perhaps—all frustration and leather? 

He heard the whisper of cloth. Then a short, thick cock jabbed in at him, already hard. His lips stretched around it, his mouth pleasantly full. The man was impatient and careless, hips pistoning as he fucked Tarrlok's mouth. Now that was more like it. The thin wooden wall rattled precariously, and he could hear the low grunts of effort on the other side. He closed his eyes blissfully, fondling himself as his mouth was roughly used. 

A hoarse cry and a violent thrust heralded the slick spill in his mouth, and Tarrlok hummed in satisfaction as he swallowed. 

The man lingered a few moments, breathing hard, his cock slowly softening in Tarrlok's mouth. Then he withdrew, fastening back up and taking his leave.

It was a few minutes before the next one, and Tarrlok sat back in leisurely self-pleasure until he caught a glimpse of red in the corridor. It left his line of sight, then appeared again. A figure was pacing very slowly in the corridor, lingering briefly by the hole and blocking out the light. Ah—he had a shy one on his hands. On the third such pass, a pale pinkie finger hooked over the edge, casually, as if the setup might be some sort of prank.

Tarrlok pursed his lips and blew a puff of air against the man’s finger, thinking now, smugly, of Councilman Tenzin. Virtuous Tenzin, the perfect family man with his perpetually pregnant wife, in disguise and looking around anxiously in the squalid corridor of a vice den. The hand withdrew, and he caught shadowy sight of the surreptitious flurry of red silk before a long, well-formed cock bobbed towards him.

He smirked. Fortune favoured the bold; the trepid had to make do with teasing. His tongue drew a slow line from root to tip, savouring the taste of clean skin, and then fluttered over the head to the sound of a choked moan. Then he drew him in and sucked him sloppily, all spit and cheek before returning to idle licking, hearing the man’s breathing go ragged and feeling his body press fully against the wall. He worked his way down, open-mouthed, to the man’s balls, then carefully took one into his mouth, rolling it against his tongue.

“Ah!” The man went off like a firecracker, his spending very nearly hitting the ceiling.

Tarrlok could not keep back a snide chuckle, nor did he try to. The man quickly pulled back, fumbling with his clothing, and disappeared up the corridor in a rustle of silk and hurried footsteps.

The smile had not yet faded from his face when someone approached on quiet feet, tapping something smartly against the wall. A moment later, what proved to be a leather riding crop presented itself imperiously through the hole. Tarrlok leaned forward. The tip of the crop moved aptly, finding his cheek, and then flicked him under chin, drawing him forward. Curiosity roused, he followed it, his mouth pressed to the rim of the hole. The riding crop brushed along the seam of his lips, and he parted them obligingly. 

The thick aroma of salt made his nose twitch and his mouth salivate. Then hot, wet flesh pressed to his lips, and his eyes shut in indulgent pleasure. Oh my. It was rare to find a woman back here, on that side of the wall at least, and Tarrlok let out a muffled moan despite himself as she ground against his face. Leather and metal. His thoughts turned inexorably to their esteemed Chief Beifong. 

His hand faltered, far clumsier than his tongue as he rubbed himself and hungrily licked her. Dear, bittersweet Lin. The only one in this whole city who might see through his little game at any moment and drag the truth out of him in a glorious match of blood and iron. He could hear her faint gasp as he fixed his mouth to her cunt and ate her out hungrily. He stroked his cock faster, his grip tight and merciless as his tongue strained. 

He imagined her under him, gasping just like that—off-balance and off-guard. No, atop him, sitting on his face and pinning his arms as she rocked towards her peak. Oh no, no—right behind him, her fist in his hair and that riding crop cutting swathes through his flesh.

His orgasm thundered as she pushed against him, moaning huskily as her cunt trembled and she flooded his mouth with her juices. He spilled over his hand, groaning, his tongue still moving desperately until she drew back from him. The air was unpleasantly cold against his smeared and parted lips.

“Good boy,” the woman said. The voice, of course, was a stranger's.

Tarrlok slumped back onto his heels into the darkness of the little room, suddenly tired. His cock hung limp, and a night's worth of fluids on his face and hands were drying into a disgusting mess. He listened to the sound of crisp, high-heeled footsteps retreating and thought, almost melancholically, of the echoing staircase that led down to the cellar of his cabin, and of the narrow space between platinum walls. A space that, for now, was empty and if all went to plan would remain so. His eyes squeezed shut as he breathed out heavily. 

He really needed to get this place shut down.


End file.
